


Forget Me Not

by hunkydoryharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Dystopian, Forbidden Love, Futuristic, Kidnapping, M/M, Memory Wipe, evil government, larry stylinson - Freeform, louis has nightmares, not sure how it will end, one direction - Freeform, step-brother incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 20:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12218424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunkydoryharry/pseuds/hunkydoryharry
Summary: His waist is bound to the chair but his hands are free. In front of him sits a vial. Tall and slim, made of clear glass. Inside is a liquid. “You can't make me do anything,” He hisses at the one way glass. There's a black screen opposite him. Someone laughs through the speakers mounted either side of the glass. “Oh, Louis. We don't have to do anything. You'll take it yourself.”The screen flickers to life. “No... Please,” He sobs. “Please!” He begins to scream.





	Forget Me Not

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the book series 'Slated' by Teri Terry. Check it out.
> 
> This should be 2 - 4 chapters long depending on how I feel at the time. 
> 
> My first story!! Enjoy :)

Heave in a breath. Out. in. out. There is a man gripping his arm, forcing him into the back of a van. His legs flail for a second and his head hits something hard. A scream. Is that him? “Work with us, son,” The man grits out. “FUCK YOU!” Definitely him. He bares his teeth like a feral animal. Too late; he is in the van, face down. The man has his knees pressed against his back, hands bound. Heave in a breath. Out. In. He tries to wriggle free. His mother, his sisters! “Please!” He chokes out, “You don't have to do this!” Minutes pass in the musty silence; half an hour? He can feel the van moving, the man is still kneeling on his lower back, pinning his arms just hard enough to be painful. 

The van swerves to a halt. Heave in a breath. In... He chokes against the ground, overwhelmed with tears and memories. Nick... His Nick. Hands trailing against his skin, so gentle and warm. He hears voices. They're... laughing? Chatting like pals? He bucks underneath the man, trying to wriggle onto his stomach. “You little shit,” The man hisses. The doors are pulled open. He screws his eyes shut against the unwanted light. 

Multiple hands are on him now. He kicks his legs and snaps his teeth, eyes full of tears. They force him into a building; there are more people. “Please!” He gasps. They move aside, eyes glancing away guiltily. “You're all murderers! The lot of you!”His screams fall on deaf ears. Someone cuts in in front of them to punch a password into the pad next to the door, and they carry him down there, stumbling against the walls and gripping his arms so hard that he feels nothing but pins and needles. The next room they enter seems more permanent. He lets out a yelp as they force him into the enforced metal chair. When he is secure they leave, panting and shoving each other in a jovial way. 

His waist is bound to the chair but his hands are free. In front of him sits a vial. Tall and slim, made of clear glass. Inside is a liquid. “You can't make me do anything,” He hisses at the one way glass. There's a black screen opposite him. Someone laughs through the speakers mounted either side of the glass. “Oh, Louis. We don't have to do anything. You'll take it yourself.”

The screen flickers to life. “No... Please,” He sobs. “Please!” He begins to scream. 

 

\--

There is a woman sitting opposite him, hands moving quickly and mouth moving even quicker. “...Ben? Oh, hunny!” She coos when he blinks and is back in the room. “You've been through so much, I would be surprised if you aren't a little damaged,” She smiles but he does not smile back. Instead, raises his arms to study the scars – burns? – that blot his skin. He is wearing a black T shirt and jeans that he doesn't remember changing into. “Welcome to Poppy Drive; your designated TYRC!” She is bright and bubbly, with blonde ringlets and sugary smelling lipgloss. “TRYC?” He clears his throat. It is hoarse and high pitched when he speaks. “Oh, you sugar dumpling! Temporary Rehoming Youth Centre. We are here to make you well and comfortable, and to introduce you into your wonderful new life!” He is, if anything, confused. 

“Where'd I get these scars?” He asks, examining the coffee table in-between them. There is a half filled mug of coffee, and a rainbow glass full of orange juice. He doesn't know which one is his, so he ignores them, shifting in his seat. Her smile flickers for a second, before it is plastered back on with even more gusto. “You were in a car accident, Ben. They said you might not be able to remember things well. Your new family will be aware of this when they sign the Rehoming paperwork; see! No reason to worry.”

“T-Tell me more,” He presses, “How'd I get burnt so badly? Was there a fire?” Pause for breath. “What... what happened to my family – my parents?”

He sees for the first time; kids playing outside, all wearing monotonous coloured T shirts and blue jeans – the paperwork the woman is carrying in her arms, a huge binder full. The stress creases next to her tired eyes. He shoots out of his seat and the woman stands with him. “Woah, buddy! Hang on a second there, that's a lot of questions,” Her voice is uneasy. One of the other 'workers' is cautiously watching from the communal kitchen. “Why don't you sit back down and we can discuss some more?” 

He sits down. 

 

\--

Someone is screaming – his name? “Louis! Louis!” He opens his mouth to answer but his voice doesn't come. He just gasps and gasps. Hands on his shoulders, rubbing comfortable circles. “My love,” He whispers. Nick? His lover... it must be Nick. He turns around, looking for a familiar face, instead seeing a young girl. Her eyes are void of anything, and he stares as she opens her mouth and screams again; “Louis!” 

He jerks awake, bedsheets rough in his hands. He heaves into the fabric, producing nothing but bile. His cheeks are wet with tears. His room-mate, Danny, mumbles something and turns away to face the wall. He fumbles for the edge of the fabric and rips it off his body, stumbling to his feet. The pyjamas he is wearing are baggy and thin, but the cold does not bother him. He pads to the window, pressing a hand to the glass. It's locked, of course. He had tried it the first night he had the dream. 

He sinks to the ground, pressing his face into his bony knees, crying quietly. He can feel the grip of the dream slipping away; soon he won't remember any of it. But for now, he thinks. Louis? Is that his name? “I am Ben.” He scolds himself, fingers digging into his legs. “Ben Jackett. I am Ben Jackett. I am seventeen. I will find a new family. They will be loving,” It calms him enough to get to his feet, a little unsteady but still calm, and make his way back to the bed. If only he had a pen and paper... In a second, it is gone. “What...” He mutters, pulling the bedsheets back up over his legs. “I'll just...” He drifts back off before he finishes the sentence. 

 

\--

“Anne. Twist. And my husband Robin.” His new mother smiles at him. It almost seems genuine. He shakes their hands and turns around to look at his home of the past four weeks. The other children pay no attention to him, standing in clothes that Anne brought for him, carrying a small bag of things they said belonged to him. A blue watch, a purple beanie. An I heart London key-chain. It was kind of them, really. To give him something from his old life. He turns around and smiles back at his parents; lets out a small sigh and shifts on his feet. “Let's go,” His mum says, softly. 

The car ride was exciting. After seeing the same garden, kitchen, bedroom, for four weeks, it was nice to see some trees. Shops. Cars. “How far away is home?” He asks. 

“Only about twenty minutes,” Robin tells him, chuckling. “Harry's very excited to meet you. Gemma... Well, you'll get to know her soon enough. 

The twenty minutes is up way too fast, and soon enough they are pulling into the driveway of a pretty semi-detatched house. There is a Gnome fishing in the garden, and a handmade sign in one of the upstairs windows. “WELCOME HOME BEN!!!!” It reads. He flushes happily. This is it, his new chance. 

Anne opens the front door and before any of them can enter the house, a boy runs out.

The first thing he sees is curls – long brown curls. They tickle his face as the boy pulls him in for a tight hug. “Hi...” He whispers into his ear. “M' Harry.”

 

He very quickly decides that he likes Harry. Maybe it's his dimples, or his love of iced coffee, or the way he chills in their room wearing nothing but a towel for two hours after bathing. Either way, they become inseparable.

“Harold?” He asks shyly, on his first day at college, “Do I look okay?” He has chosen to wear a white and blue striped T shirt with new red jeans. “You look lovely,” Harry says, “An absolute charmer.” He has put on a few pounds with all the home-cooked food he's been eating seconds and thirds of, but it's good because it's gone straight to his arse. Better than not having any arse, he decides. 

Harry stays by his side all day, even going as far as to escort him to the bathroom. “Harry, seriously, I think I'm okay going for a piss by myself...” He says, but Harry isn't having any of it. “You're my step-brother, you bet your arse I'm going to make sure nobody lays a hand on you.” He grins that shit-eating grin that he loves. “My arse, huh?” He fires back, “You really wanna put down such a big bet?” 

Harry just about pees himself laughing. 

 

\--

He lies in bed, Horlicks warm in his stomach, dreading sleep. Every night it's been the same. He begged Harry not to tell their parents about the nightmares. “Only if you wake me up every time, yeah?” He finally agreed. Across the room, Harry was reading some book for homework. His curls were up in a sloppy bun and he was wearing two sizes too small Spiderman pyjamas. “Harry?” His voice is raspy and quiet, but he looks up from his boring book. “Sweetcheeks?” Harry replies.

He – Ben... Louis? – considers his response carefully (although that doesn't mean he didn't blush at the pet name). “I think... I think I remember my dream,” He said. Harry was out of bed in a heartbeat, cross legged on his step-brother's bed. “You wanna talk about it, Ben?” Harry asks. 

“Let's just... try something,” He says, “Try calling me Louis.”

Harry chuckles. “Okayyy... Louis.”

Louis feels something tighten in his stomach. Harry sits mere centimetres from him. But they feel closer than that; almost sharing the same skin. “I think my... my name is Louis. My real name.” He holds his breath waiting for Harry's response. He looks confused, but Louis continues. “Something happened to me. Not a car crash, Harry. I know it wasn't a car crash... I--”

Harry cuts him off, “I'm trying to... trying to understand, Ben – Louis, fuck, sorry – but what if it's just a dream? Sometimes brains can cook up some awful stuff. One time I dreamt I was having... relations with Gemma. I was freaked out but then, y'know, I realised. Just a dream. All of it...” He trails off. 

Louis feels something unrecognisable. Fear? Something grips his heart. “Harry, you can't tell anyone. Not even Mum and Dad. I'm not Ben Jackett... I'm Louis. And somewhere out there, someone is missing me.”


End file.
